Busted
by Tyranusfan
Summary: Dean and Sam nurse their wounds after leaving Gary's house. Tag for Swap Meat. Rated T for Humor.


_Just a crack!fic tag for Swap Meat. Thanks to geminigrl11 for the warp-speed beta. _

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**Busted**

"Are you sure you're okay, Dean? Maybe you should go to a hospital, get checked out."

Dean rolled his eyes, gripping the steering wheel tighter to keep control. Sam meant well, and Dean knew the kid had freaked when he saw the bruises along his stomach, but the worrying was wearing on his frayed nerves. He just needed to keep his head on straight until they could get some sleep.

"That's the third time you've said that in the last five miles," Dean grit out slowly. "For the _fourth_ time, I'm fine. Stop asking me if I am. I am!"

Sam shrank in his seat a little---which made Dean feel worse---but just went back to what he'd been doing ever since they left Gary's house in Housatonic: flexing his hands, squaring his shoulders, stretching his neck.

That was almost as annoying as the constant mother hen routine.

"Dude, are you sure _you're_ okay?" Dean asked. He tried to put some levity in his tone, hoping to lighten the mood after his outburst.

"Hmm?" Sam looked at him, distracted. "Oh. Yeah, just--- You know, I got used to being in Gary's body."

Dean couldn't hold back the sputter of laughter. "Well, that sounded all kinds of wrong."

Sam grimaced at him. "It's not funny, Dean. It's like…I gotta get used to my own body again. It's weird."

_Well, I can sympathize_, Dean almost said, but he stopped himself. He'd had the same problem for about a week after digging himself out of his own grave in Pontiac.

Dean blinked. "Damn, our lives are screwed up."

"What?"

He glanced over. "Nothing. There's a motel."

Dean took the next exit, and within fifteen minutes was lugging his bag into a motel room.

Truth was, he felt lousy. That demon had kicked the crap out of him. While the blood in his mouth had come from biting his cheek, his midsection was one big yellow and purple bruise.

Sam dropped his duffel on the bed and stood for a second, shifting in his clothes. "I feel kind of--- Um, I'm gonna grab a shower."

"Knock yourself out," Dean shrugged back. "I'll be right back."

When he reached the door, he called back over his shoulder. "And don't let housekeeping in this time."

Sam turned to him with a confused frown. "Huh?"

Dean blinked. "Oh. Right. Sorry, I thought--- Nevermind."

His brother's bewildered stare chased him out the door. Dean strolled down the walkway to the ice machine. He wanted to get settled with a beer and a few bags of ice on his stomach while Sam was in the bathroom. That way he wouldn't be bombarded with questions again.

A big part of Dean was happy that Sam could still get like that when he was hurt, however annoying the attention could be. The rest of him wished Sammy would get a hobby. He breathed out a tired sigh. They just needed to get away from this town, that was all. Between Gary's body swapping, demons putting a hit out on him and idiot teenagers trying to collect, Dean had had enough for one week.

He re-entered the room and made a bee line for the bed. "I'm back."

There was a pause, then Sam called back, sounding odd. "Dean?"

Dean collapsed onto the bed with a loud groan. "Yeah?"

"Could--- Could you come here a minute?"

Something in Sam's tone got his attention. It was the same kind of voice Sam had used when he was fifteen and got that weird spider bite. Confusion, worry, and general freaking out all rolled into one.

Dean rolled off the bed and hobbled around the corner into the bathroom. He raised his eyebrows and leaned against the door. "Do I want to know?"

Sam was standing in his boxers, grimacing into the mirror. He pulled the waistband down, showing his hip. "What the hell are these?"

Reluctantly, Dean dropped his gaze and peered closer. He let out a whistle. A series of red welts dotted the skin of Sam's hip. Further examination found more welts running down both thighs and the other hip. "Dude…those are riding crop marks."

"What?!"

"Yeah," Dean nodded authoritatively, a snicker slipping out. "Definitely."

"Where'd I get them?"

Dean was having a really hard time containing the laughter inside. Given Sam's glare, he wasn't hiding it well. "How would I know---? Oh. Wait. Yeah. Gary. Gary picked up a blonde in that bar we ate dinner in last night."

Sam's face twisted in disbelief. "You let him sleep with some random woman in a bar? While he was in _my_ body?"

Dean's sides were starting to hurt. Still, he put up a offended look. "I didn't know it wasn't you!"

"Yeah, like I pick up women at bars all the time!"

Holding up his hands, Dean tried to placate. He had to get away from Sam and let the giggles out before something ruptured. "Dude, in my defense, that was when I realized you weren't you."

That seemed to work. Sam's anger deflated a little, and he went back to examining his "injuries." He threw a disgusted frown at the mirror. Dean was about to turn and go back to bed when Sam spoke again.

"Hey, Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Um, how do you know what riding crop marks look like?"

Dean blinked a few times, brain having come to a startled halt. A half-dozen excuses flew through his frontal lobe before he managed to get his mouth working properly.

"I, um--- I mean--- Uh…let's go back there and kick that kid's ass. I'll go start the car."

Dean bolted from the bathroom before Sam could get another word out.

END


End file.
